


Don't Blame It On the Sunshine

by ohhotlamb



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Lifeguards, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, a story in which mibuchi is the least helpful wingman in the world, akashi tries so damn hard, furihata is clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furihata Kouki is a lifeguard. For the most part, he enjoys his job. </p><p>Today is an exception. </p><p>He's sick as a dog, stranded on top of the waterslide, and waiting for the head lifeguard to rescue him, all while looking like a necromancy experiment gone wrong. Hopefully he'll be able to live through this day without soul-scarring mortification - but then again, when has anything ever gone the way he wanted it to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Blame It On the Sunshine

Furihata’s very strange day actually started the day before.

It all began with a sudden summer downpour. It was early August — even though the rainy season had passed, these things were not unheard of. And being summer, the water didn’t feel as icy as it would have a few months ago.  It was cool, and for most people that meant a break from the unseasonably warm weather and an excuse not to water their garden.

For Furihata, the rain meant that he had to run and pick up his little sister from ballet practice, in the pouring rain, without an umbrella. Furihata worked as a lifeguard—water wasn’t an issue for him. He loved swimming, and on most days the rain would be welcome. He was one of those people that liked to purposefully walk through puddles, take off his jacket hood for a moment, stick out his tongue and feel the water land there; on his cheeks and eyelids, cool and fresh. He didn’t carry an umbrella with him to work that morning for that very reason. But he had also forgotten to bring his waterproof jacket—something he thinks is quite reasonable, seeing as the morning sky had been a pure, cloudless blue, giving no warning whatsoever to the typhoon up ahead.

So leaving the public pool after his shift had resulted in him running through the rain in his regular clothes for nearly twenty minutes, before he made it to the dance studio and was able to get shelter underneath the awning. His little sister had scolded him, and Furihata had stood and taken the admonishment meekly; then the two of them walked home together, Furihata holding the too-small pink and frilly umbrella over both their heads.

He hadn’t thought much of it after that; he took a bath, ate dinner, helped his little sister with starting her summer homework. After that it had just been a matter of changing into pajamas and promptly clocking out.

Waking up the next morning, however, was another story. As he sat on the edge of his bed in plain horror, his brain foggy and stomach churning and forehead sweaty, for the first time in his life he cursed the rain. Was his immune system really this useless? Could it really not stand forty minutes of wet clothes before completely wigging out and catching whatever was making Furihata’s limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated?

 _Work. I gotta go to work._ He had lurched into a standing position, the room nearly flipping upside-down, and he had resisted the urge to take a one-eighty and face-plant right back into bed.

In hindsight, he hadn’t made the best decisions that day. He wants to blame it on his obvious fever for clouding his judgement, but most of it can probably be boiled down to pure stubbornness and desperation. He’s been paying for university all by himself - his parents would help if they could, he knows that. But they had trouble enough paying for the bare necessities, and over his dead body would he make his little sister quit her dance lessons just so they could help pay for a couple textbooks. So he works - in the outdoor pool during the summer months, at the indoor during the winter, occasionally working as a swim teacher if he’s looking for extra hours. He likes his job - most of the time he gets to work with kids, something he’s good at. His coworkers are friendly and the pay’s alright. He gets to sneak glances at the unfairly attractive head lifeguard, and in all his time working he’s only had to jump in after somebody a total of three times.

So most days weren't too bad. But today was not a good day to be Furihata Kouki.

As he currently sits in a flimsy green plastic chair under the hot sun, his skin somehow being cold at the same time, he reflects on what his life has come to. He’s working the waterslide today, which ordinarily he’d be pretty happy about. It’s marginally more exciting than watching the main pool, which isn’t saying much. All he has to do is reprimand the kids for pushing in line, and tell them when it’s safe for them to go down. But the heat's even worse up here - the waterslide is a good three stories high, bringing his body even closer to the raging ball of fire in the sky. Even with the added shade of the provided beach umbrella it's scorching, and he swears the umbrella is trapping in the humidity, which probably isn’t helping with his current situation.

Furihata blinks, and when he opens them again his vision is dotted with black spots. That’s probably a bad thing, right? He swallows, flexes his fingers, his palms cold and clammy. He can’t pass out in front of a bunch of kids. They’ll panic - what if one of them runs down the stairs to get help and slips? What if they crack their head open on the concrete? It would be all his fault for coming into work with a fever!

He contemplates his options: stay where he is for the rest of his shift to see if he feels better, or call in and ask for a replacement so he doesn’t traumatize the kids. A young girl with bows on her bathing suit steps up next; she smiles up at him with big gaps in her teeth, her brown eyes wide and excited. He imagines her face as she witnesses his eyes rolling back into his head. The subsequent screaming. Life-long trauma. _Therapy._

_Okay, that does it._

He checks over the edge of the guard rail - the previous kid made it down to the bottom and is now swimming under the rope that separates the main pool from the let-out of the waterslide. “Okay, you can go now. Make sure you face forwards,” he says to her, smiling shakily, and the moment she sits down on the sky-blue chute he’s grasping for the radio pinned to his shorts pocket.

“M…Mibuchi-kun? Mibuchi-kun? It’s Furihata. I need a replacement.”

A moment of silence is followed by a sharp noise of static, and then, “Kouki-chan. What’s up? You still have, oh… about twenty-three minutes until your shift’s over.”

He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I know. I know, but…”

“But?”

He breathes out slowly. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Pass out? Like faint?”

“Yeah,” Furihata says weakly, his skin feeling so sticky and cold outside in the wet heat.

“I see. You’re working the waterslide today, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So either way down could get messy. You’re probably going to need help.”

Furihata swallows down what he hopes isn’t bile, his eyelashes fluttering. He looks down the slide, notices that the little girl has safely made it, and he gestures for the next kid to go. They take a running leap and he doesn’t have the energy to yell after them. “I’ll manage somehow.”

“I don’t think so, Kouki-chan,” Mibuchi sing-songs. Furihata doesn’t see the point in replying (Mibuchi is Mibuchi, which means that arguing was pretty pointless), so he listens as the walkie-talkie bursts several times with static, like Mibuchi had almost started talking again before getting distracted and taking his thumb off the button. He finally returns after two agonizing minutes.

“Hmm…fine. Sei-chan will be there in a minute.”

“Wait, _who_?” Furihata gasps, stands from his seat and immediately regrets that course of action as lightheadedness overwhelms him.

Mibuchi clucks his tongue impatiently. “I _said_ , Seijuurou will be coming up to get you, so sit tight.”

“Send someone else!” Furihata begs frantically, not even bothering to be coy about it. _No, no no no no!_ He can’t have…he can’t have _Akashi_ coming up three flights of waterslide stairs just to see him in this state! He has no doubt that his skin is sickly pale (possibly bordering on corpse-like) and that he looks more like he belongs in a mausoleum than in the land of the living. “Send Kagami! Or Hayama! Please!”

He stares pleadingly at his walkie-talkie, his stomach dropping as it crackles back to life with a sigh from Mibuchi. “Taiga doesn’t work today and Kotarou is helping Shirogane-san organize the office. Sei-chan offered to come get you so please behave for him.”

Furihata doesn’t reply; instead he slumps back down in his chair, head in his hands, fingers clutching his hair a bit too forcefully. _Oh, no._

Akashi Seijuurou had made his appearance in Furihata's life sometime around his second year of high school, when he had first started working at the pool and was beginning his lifeguard training. He had been different back then - vaguely dangerous and intimidating enough that Furihata had difficulty making even brief eye contact (even though he had been working so hard on his self-confidence, and had made a lot of progress - some things were just beyond his capabilities). During that time, the neighborhood generally felt that Akashi was a little touch-and-go. He got into a bit of trouble in his early teens, nothing too serious but just enough to warrant gossip among old ladies and bored convenient store workers. There were rumors that he was a gang leader, that he once tried to drown someone in the pool after-hours. Furihata never quite knew if he believed those rumors. Regardless of his slightly hostile aura, something told Furihata that he'd never get his hands dirty like that.

Back then, Furihata had watched him from afar. He got glimpses when they passed each other in the locker room, and when they had the same shift Furihata often caught himself watching Akashi from across the pool. He was something pretty to look at, nothing more.

Furihata doesn’t know what triggered the change, but suddenly Akashi wasn’t the same anymore. He seemed to have been on a see-saw, edging himself towards one path or another, and then one day it had become unbalanced, tipping himself to become the current Akashi. He was softer, somehow. Less abrasive, less authoritative. His presence still commanded respect, but he'd become fairly generous with his smiles, and on rare occasions he'd grace them with a short laugh. He said hello and smiled at Furihata when they passed each other now, and if they found themselves in the staff lounge at the same time he often struck up conversation. They were very silly conversations, in Furihata’s mind: most of them consisted of reminding himself he was allowed to make eye contact now and struggling to say something that didn’t involve his little sister or the way the chlorine was making his nails brittle.

However, these stupid, silly, unbelievably insignificant conversations unfortunately landed Furihata with the most hopeless crush of his short life.

To say Akashi was attractive was an understatement that didn't need further explanation. But as they talked, Furihata became enamored with the way he spoke: softly, with lilts at the ends of some words that hinted towards an upscale background. He was no-nonsense, but this new Akashi was gentle; he was courteous in a way that was nearly old-fashioned, and he was kind enough to smile even when Furihata was choking on his own tongue.

And it was hopeless, because there was no way - not within the infinite possibilities of the universe - that Akashi would ever see Furihata as anything other than that one mousy boy who he worked with at the pool. For the sake of his poor heart, Furihata almost wishes that things could go back to the way they used to be. But for reasons Furihata can’t fathom, Akashi somehow is able to draw enough pity within himself to make these conversations a common occurrence. Some days it almost felt like Akashi would actively go out of his way to seek him out. Furihata had to remind himself that he probably wasn't being tormented on purpose - Akashi was just trying to be kind, perhaps to make up for those years of being co-workers but not having a proper friendship. Furihata was forced to endure these talks, desperately trying not to think about what Akashi’s full lips would feel like on his neck.

So long story short, for perfectly acceptable reasons, Furihata is currently having a mild panic attack on the top platform of the waterslide while waiting for his crush to see him looking like a papier-mâché Casper the Friendly Ghost.

He lifts his face from his hands when he hears the kids in line squealing - the line extends all the way down to nearly the bottom of the staircase, and Furihata can distinctly hear the sound of bare feet stepping up the wet concrete. His heart leaps into his throat.

If you had asked Furihata four years ago he would have said firetruck red wasn’t a good color on anybody, and anyone who willingly dyed their hair to look like a stop sign was obviously crazy. Akashi Seijuurou was not crazy, nor did he care if you thought he was. He also managed to make that obscene blood-red look not only good, but downright _explicit_. And that bright head of red hair was currently making its way up the last flight of stairs.

When he slips past the line of shoving children on the platform and meets Furihata’s eyes, immediately he smiles softly, just a gentle upturning of his plush lips, and Furihata’s already-wavering vision is nearly wiped black. He tips a little, but is resurrected the moment he feels a warm, dry hand steady his shoulder. “Good afternoon, Furihata-kun. I hear you’re not feeling well?” Akashi says, his head tilted to the side, voice sympathetic.

Furihata opens his mouth, and is infinitely grateful nothing comes out instead of the whimper he feels building in his chest. Akashi’s eyes are a golden brown, more on the yellow side than anything, and in the right light Furihata would swear that the color flickered orange, sometimes mimicking the fire of his hair. Right now, in the direct light of the sun, they’re luminescent - it feels like they can see right through him. He clears his throat, and the rough action on his sore throat makes him wince. “Um, I - yeah. Yeah.”

The hand slips from his shoulder. “Don't worry. Aida-san came in early today and said she’d gladly replace you. She should arrive momentarily - she just has to change.”

“Ah…alright.”

Akashi rests his hands on his hips. “First things first, we need to get you down.” He looks at Furihata appraisingly - his gaze flickers to the stairs for half a second before returning. His mouth turns up, and Furihata thinks the small smile looks almost bashful.

“I’m guessing you would be opposed to me carrying you down the stairs?”

Even though Akashi was only taller than Furihata by a few centimeters, in Furihata’s eyes he looked to be nearly twice as wide - broad shoulders, his arms thickly muscled, and there was no doubt in Furihata’s mind that carrying him bridal-style down the stairs would a) be no more difficult for Akashi than carrying a large puppy, and b) result in the immediate loss of Furihata’s consciousness, and/or death.

He appropriately panics. “Please don’t! Please!”

Akashi holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I won't if you don't want me to." His gaze lazily travels down, the action seeming almost unconscious - his eyes end up staring at a spot by the legs of Furihata's green chair, and Furihata anxiously curls his water-logged toes into the wet concrete.

“Hmm. Well, since you can’t go down the stairs, I suppose the only other way down would be the slide,” he muses. He glances up at Furihata. “What do you think?”

“Um, well. Th-that is, I would, but I’m kinda…kinda worried that I’d pass out on the way down.”

Akashi frowns. “I would go with you, obviously.”

“I c-can’t let you—!” He’s silenced pretty quickly by a glare - his sentence tapers off into a quiet squeak.

“Furihata-kun, there is no way I’m letting you go down by yourself. You need to make a decision. It’s either you let me carry you down the stairs or you let me accompany you on the slide.” His intense gaze does not waver for a second. “Take your pick.”

“Slide,” Furihata whispers meekly.

Akashi nods curtly. “That’s what I thought.” He turns towards the line, claps his hands together several times, and immediately all the children settle down. “I need everyone to pay attention. No one goes down the slide until Aida-san gets here. Do we all understand?”

“Yes, sir!” the chorus of children yell back.

Seeming satisfied that he'd successfully made his point, Akashi turns, gestures Furihata towards the beginning of the slide. “After you.”

Furihata stands unsteadily from his chair, and immediately Akashi grips onto his elbow. He steps carefully into the mouth of the slide - the water goes up the his ankles, and the water jets blast at his heels. He sinks down, Akashi still keeping him from tumbling over, and he sighs once he’s sitting in the water. Even though he’s still wracking with shivers, the cool water feels unbearably good on his overheated skin. He’s able to appreciate this for only a moment longer, because then Akashi steps in and sits down behind him, and Furihata Kouki finds himself sitting between the spread thighs of one Akashi Seijuurou, and as if he wasn’t nauseous enough already the proximity is enough to make his stomach do backflips.

_Please don't throw up, please don't throw up…_

“Ready?” Akashi murmurs into Furihata’s ear. He swallows, clenching his eyes tight shut, and nods weakly. And Akashi _laughs_ , the sound low and directly in Furihata’s ear and _God_ please let lightning strike him down now before he faints in Akashi's unfairly ripped arms.

“Alright. Then, here we go,” Akashi says, his tone unapologetically amused, and Furihata grips onto Akashi’s knees as Akashi pushes off from the edge, and they slowly begin inching their ways forward. Just as they approach the dip that signifies the true beginning of the descent, Akashi wraps both of his arms around Furihata’s waist, tugging him even closer against his chest, tightens his legs on either side of Furihata’s hips and props his chin on his shoulder to see the path ahead. Furihata’s heart stops.

Akashi must be able to feel the sudden tenseness of his body, because the next second warm, sweet breath is puffing against his ear again. Akashi speaks louder than before to be heard over the sound of running water. “Don’t worry. I have you. You are safe, Kouki.”

Kouki. _Kouki_. His addled brain is spinning, the water jets are bubbling up against his bare feet and Akashi Seijurou just called him by his first name, on accident or on purpose Furihata doesn’t know, but then it doesn’t really matter because in that moment Furihata’s brain decides now would be a really great time to black out.

 

**

 

“ _Oh my_ ,” a delighted voice says, their tone bubbling with poorly disguised laughter, and Furihata frowns vaguely. Who was that? Were they laughing at him? That was mean. “Did you have to _carry_ him here? But wait, you’re all wet— _no!_ ”  They gasp, choking on a giggle. “Don’t tell me he fainted on the _slide?_ ”

“He did,” says a weary and slightly annoyed voice somewhere above Furihata’s head.

“I bet you are just _over the moon_ , Sei-chan,” they continue, and they don’t even bother to conceal the next tickling laugh. “Here, here, set him down over here.”

Furihata is very gently jostled, but otherwise he isn't moved. “Has anyone ever told you that your personality can be rather aggravating sometimes, Reo?”

“I believe you’ve told me the very same thing on more than one occasion. I’ll go get a blanket, I’ll be right back.”

Furihata hears the sound of a rolling chair being pushed back, quick footsteps and uncontrollable giggles fading into the distance. He tries opening his eyes, groans and turns his head to the side; the light is too much and all he can see are blurry shapes. His nose brushes something soft and warm and wet, and when he inhales he smells chlorine.

“Are you awake now, Furihata-kun? Do you need anything?” A soothing voice murmurs, and Furihata moans low in his throat. His head is pounding and his stomach feels poisonous and his whole body _aches_. He feels his dry tongue in his mouth, experimentally licks across his bottom lip, and whatever’s touching his shoulder briefly tightens before the warmth all across his side disappears. Instead he feels coarse fibers against his bare back and calves, his head set against something fluffy. He wants the warmth back. It felt so much better.

“ _Noooo_ ,” he whines, turning on his side and reaching out blindly. The warmth finds his hand again, enveloping it completely, and he sighs with contentment.

“Furihata-kun? Would you like some water? I'm sure it would make you feel better. You have quite the fever.”

Furihata licks his lips again - now that he thinks about it, his throat does feel reminiscent of sandpaper. And maybe some water would help quench the fire that's making his ears burn. (But yet he's shivering? How does that even make sense?). “Mmmm…fine," he allows, sniffling miserably.

“Very well. I have to let go of your hand to get some. Is that alright?”

He frowns, squeezes the warmth he’s clenching between his fingers - the warmth squeezes back, and he cracks his eyes open, this time the light more bearable. “Hand…?”

When his vision focuses, the first thing he sees is his own arm; it’s extended, and as he follows it down to his hand he notes that it’s currently clenched onto another one. The skin is paler than his own, dotted with freckles, and he squeezes again. They squeeze back, an airy chuckle in its wake. Furihata glances up and is met with a pair of attentive eyes, and he jolts. He tries sitting up but finds that he’s too weak to do so; he flops back down on what he now sees is the staff room couch.

He squirms instead, some blood finally making its way into his pale cheeks. “A-Akashi-kun! Wh..what! I-I’m so s-sorry! I don’t!”

Akashi waves him off. “It’s quite fine. You’ve probably realized by now, but you fainted on the slide.”

Furihata stills, his eyes growing wide as he had not, in fact, realized the implications of being evidently carried ( _Oh, God_ ) by Akashi back to the staff lounge. And now that he has all he wants to do is to go back to being unconscious. He'll have to quit his job - no, he'll have to leave the city. _If this gets out he's ruined._ His pride would be in tatters. How many people saw? What if he had _peed_ himself? A quick check erases that particular worry, but what if, hypothetically, he _had?_ What if - “How long have I been out?” he croaks, voice hoarse and shivery.

“No more than ten minutes.”

He bites his lip, very slightly relieved. Okay, so not that long then. Akashi must have taken him straight here - and when he thinks about it rationally, the pool patrons probably thought they were just training rescue maneuvers. Nothing to freak out about, right? _Calm down, calm down._ He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “I haven’t woken up at all?”

Akashi hesitates, and Furihata's stomach clenches. What? What did _that_ mean? ( _And while he's on a roll questioning things, why is Akashi so hot? How is that allowed? Focus, Kouki, focus -_ ) “Well…there was a brief moment that you woke up when I was pulling you out of the pool. Do you remember?”

Furihata shakes his head, eyes wide. “No. Did…did I say anything?”

“Oh, nothing of importance,” Akashi replies flippantly.

Before Furihata can ask what "nothing of importance" exactly entailed, Mibuchi comes back into the room, carrying a thick woolen blanket and a glass of water, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Ah, Kouki-chan! I see you’ve woken up!”

“Mibuchi-kun…” Furihata replies weakly, accepting the glass of water from him. He manages to wriggle his way into a sitting position, his back against the pillow his head was a moment ago. He takes a cautious sip of the water, sighing with pleasure as the moisture spreads across his tongue and wets his parched throat.

Akashi takes the blanket from Mibuchi's arms, fans it out to lie across Furihata's shivering frame. "Thank you, Reo," he murmurs.

Not easily distracted now that he's told that he unknowingly said something to Akashi while _under the influence of fever_ , Furihata drops the glass to rest against his lap, his fingers tight on the sides. “Akashi-kun! Please…what did I say?”

"It was truly insignificant. Please don't concern yourself."

"But I really wanna know! Please."

Another moment of hesitation, and then the corner of Akashi’s mouth twitches. “You demanded that I give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

The world stops spinning.

Mibuchi snorts, slaps his hand to his mouth and positively _howls_.

“What?” Furihata squeaks. He _didn't_. He _couldn't_ have - it was a joke. Akashi had to be joking. Even though he hasn't been known to really make a joke, ever, he must have decided now was a good time to start. It was a cruel one, but he could be forgiven. He obviously didn't quite understand the concept of humor yet. Furihata would be happy to teach him harmless knock-knock jokes in the future, maybe a few puns - but Akashi isn't laughing. He's staring at Mibuchi clutching his stomach with irritation, before his eyes flick back to Furihata's, and they soften - _oh_.

_He isn't joking._

Furihata's jaw drops with horror. The cat was out of the bag. Akashi _knew_ \- he was smart, terrifyingly so. He had to have pieced together the reason for Furihata's feverish demand. _He knows I like him._

He swallows, painfully, looking up at Akashi uncertainly. “Did…did you…?”

Akashi blinks, looking surprised. Furihata grimaces, hating himself a little for even asking. Of course Akashi didn't give him mouth-to-mouth, especially if it was clear that he was healthy enough to even be asking for it in the first place. Even though he already knew what he would say, Akashi's response leaves him a little disappointed anyway. “Of course not. Don’t worry, you were quite clearly breathing and in no danger. Your head never even went under the water.”

Mibuchi ceases his inappropriately loud laughter to bed down and mutter something inaudible to Akashi, grinning smugly, and Akashi jolts. He glares daggers, his cheeks flushing pink in what just _can’t_ but _has_ to be a blush ( _Akashi can blush? Has that even happened before?_ ), and Mibuchi laughs. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye.

“So, Kouki-chan. Do you have someone who can come pick you up? If you hadn’t woken up we were planning on just calling your emergency contact, but since you did, well,” Mibuchi shrugs. "You have options."

Head still reeling and feeling distinctly more nauseous than he did a minute ago, Furihata blinks dazedly. _I can't believe I said that, I can't believe I said that..._ “Um…both my parents work, and I don’t want to inconvenience them…I can just walk! I’ll be fine. I feel better already!” he lies through his teeth.

Akashi turns to Mibuchi like Furihata hadn’t even said anything. “Can you tell Shirogane-san that I shall be leaving for the day?”

“Leave it to me,” Mibuchi says, smiling widely. He grins at Furihata, leans down and once again whispers in Akashi’s ear. After a moment Akashi nearly leaps back, slaps a hand to his ear like he’d been stung.

“ _Reo._ ”

Mibuchi bites his lip, a snicker leaving him anyways. He schools his face into something more serious, purses his lips at Furihata. “Next time, don’t come to work if you aren’t feeling well. If you hurt yourself on the job I’m the one who’s going to get in trouble. Got it?”

Furihata swings his legs around until his bare feet touch the floor; feeling his body out, he’s lightheaded but he doesn’t see black spots anymore. Progress. He inclines his head in a small bow. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

When he looks back up he notices that Akashi has frozen, staring at Furihata with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You had a fever this morning?” he asks slowly, something in his voice distinctly dangerous that tells Furihata to tread lightly.

“Um, yes..?"

“And you didn’t think to call in sick?” His voice is level, but with a certain amount of anger clearly simmering under the surface.

Furihata shrinks back. “I, um. Well, that is…”

Akashi closes his eyes; he massages his temples briefly, takes a deep, controlled breath. He lets it out slowly, before he turns on his heel and heads for the employee lockers. “Stay right there. I'm fetching my car keys.”

Mibuchi looks down at Furihata with a pitying expression. He clucks his tongue sadly. “Someone’s in _trouble._ ”

 

**

 

One second Furihata's shivering in half-fear half-chills on the couch in the staff lounge, and the next he's shivering in five-sixths terror and one-sixth fever-induced tremors in Akashi Seijuurou's car.

It's deathly quiet, and Furihata desperately needs to blow his nose or snot is going to be dripping down his chin, but he's scared of what any sort of noise might trigger. So instead he tries to quietly sniff and wipe his nose off on his shirt sleeve - apparently, he's not as quiet as he hoped, because when he looks back up he realizes that Akashi's faced completely in his direction, the pavement ahead ignored.

Furihata startles, slaps his hand against the dashboard. "Akashi-kun, the road!"

"You need to take better care of yourself."

"I - " Furihata breathes out, bewildered, and Akashi finally turns away.

"It is completely idiotic to force yourself to work when it's obvious you can't perform well in such a state, Furihata-kun. I hope this situation has taught you a valuable lesson," he says, voice loud and clear and matter-of-fact, and Furihata shrinks into himself. It feels like it used to before - this feels like he's speaking to the old Akashi, the one he couldn't make eye contact with without fear of peeing himself. He stays quiet, and he sees Akashi look at him from his peripheral vision. He seems to consider something for a moment. "I am angry with you," he concludes, his eyes flicking to face ahead once more.

Furihata nods unhappily. "I know."

"Not for the reason you think," Akashi says, sounding agitated. The incessant drumming of his fingers across the wheel attest to that. Furihata looks down at his lap.

"I could have scared the kids?" he hedges. Akashi's eyes narrow.

"No."

"Oh. Um, if something had happened to me you would have been held responsible?"

"No."

"I...I see." Furihata shakily leans against the door. "Then...then why are you angry?"

Akashi inhales sharply, the sound verging on a snort. He doesn't reply for a long moment - he seems to be choosing his answer carefully. "Would you have condoned similar actions if they had belonged to your little sister?" he finally asks, tone annoyed and exasperated.

Furihata blinks dumbly. "Saori?"

"The one who dances ballet?" Akashi prompts slowly, like he truly believes Furihata has forgotten about his one and only sister, the most important person in the world to him.

"Ahh. Yeah, she dances. Ballet. Um..." His brain is sluggish, and thinking of every word is strenuous. "I...no, I wouldn't want her going to school. If she had a fever."

"Would you be angry with her if she were to do so?"

"I...yeah? I guess so?"

Akashi nods, seeming slightly placated. "Then you understand my current emotions."

Furihata frowns, confused. "But...I'm not your sister?"

Akashi turns to him, his eyes wide in disbelief, and then Furihata shouts. It causes both of them to jump in their seats, and Akashi whips his head back towards the road.

"What is it?"

"Saori!"

Akashi tilts his head questioningly.

"I'm supposed to pick her up from lessons today!"

He smacks his forehead against the window and groans wordlessly, unable to appreciate how the cool glass soothes his burning skin. His fever must be messing with his head more than he originally thought. How could he have forgotten? He's picked her up from lessons nearly every day for four years straight, and all it takes is a raised internal temperature for him to fail so spectacularly? He pictures Saori standing underneath the awning outside the studio after lessons, all alone, waiting for him - _but he never comes! Because he's the worst big brother in the world! How could he have forgotten I'm sorry Saori please forgive me -_

Without missing a beat, Akashi nods. "Direct me."

Furihata turns to him, mouth slack and eyes doe-like. "Wha?"

"Tell me when to turn. We can pick her up."

"Are you sure?"

The car speeds up just slightly. "Which lane should I be in?"

Furihata leans away from the window, settling dazedly into his seat. He notices the sweaty smudge his forehead left on the window, and he raises his hand to wipe it. It smears even more. Great. "Oh. Um, stay where you are. We have to turn right in a couple streets."

"Understood."

His head's having trouble wrapping around what's happening here. All he knows is that two seconds ago his muddled mind was in a fluttering panic, and now he feels completely calm and at peace.

Furihata tilts his head, hopes in vain that he's being sneaky as he watches Akashi but he highly doubts it's working. But Akashi seems to either pity him or wants to focus more on driving because their eyes don't meet - Furihata just stares at his profile, feeling a bit wonderstruck. The shivers that are raking his body are now entirely fever-induced, and as Furihata looks at him ( _oh, he gets freckles on his nose during the summer, how cute_ ) he realizes his face is now feeling hot for an entirely different reason.

"Turn right here, please."

 

**

 

"And Kuronuma-sensei said that if I kept working hard that she'd let me be the lead in the performance next month! Isn't that awesome? Right? Sei-chan, isn't it _awesome!?_ "  Saori pipes from the backseat, swatting Akashi's headrest to get his attention and further her point.

"Yes, Saori-chan. That's wonderful."

"Kouki! Isn't it _awesome?!_ "

Furihata winces at the shrillness of her voice, his face burning with additional embarrassment. Even though Akashi had given her explicit permission to call him whatever she wanted, hearing his little sister call the single most intimidating man he's ever met "Sei-chan" was difficult to swallow. It was weird enough hearing Mibuchi call him that, but from an eight-year-old girl…

He twists his neck around to smile at her. "Of course she's making you the lead. You're the best dancer there. _And_ you're the hardest worker," he tells her, unable to keep the proud note from his voice. She grins at him delightedly. And then frowns. Leans forward. "Kouki, ya know you don't look so hot right? And you sound funny," she whispers, the sound still somehow seeming to be at the same volume than if she had been hollering it at him from across a football field.

He grimaces, accepts that his face is just going to have to be red the rest of the way home. At least now he has some color. "Yes, I know, Saori. Your big brother isn't feeling very well," he explains, hopes she'll leave it at that. She doesn't.

She purses her lips at him accusingly. "It's because you were walking around in the rain yesterday, isn't it?"

_Crap._

He dutifully pretends eyes aren't suddenly searing into the side of his face. He reaches up and scratches at his cheek nervously. "Ah...yeah, that was probably it. I'll have to keep an umbrella at work from now on, huh?"

Saori bounces in the seat excitedly. " _Or_ you could just have Sei-chan drive you home every day! And pick me up too!"

Furihata laughs awkwardly, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead.

"Now, we can't be asking that of Akashi-kun. And the walking is good for us, isn't it?"

"But _Kouki_ \- ah! Sei-chan! Turn left, turn left! We're here!" Saori all but screams, hammering on Akashi's headrest with her fists and Furihata flounders.

"Saori, _please_ \- "

But the car slows and takes the turn gently, rolling up to a stop in front of the Furihata's apartment complex. Saori kicks the door open, her ballet bag slung over her shoulder, and she slithers her way out onto the pavement. "Thank you for the ride, Sei-chan! I hope you can drive us again soon!" she crows, having the sense of mind to smile and bow nicely to Akashi before dashing away.

Furihata sighs shakily, and he winces as his stomach cramps. The last thing he needs is to be cleaning up his own puke from Akashi's car, so he waits a moment for the nausea to settle before he speaks. "I'm sorry. She has more energy than she knows what to do with," he apologizes, abashed, but can't keep the smile from his face as he watches her race up the stairs to their front door.

"It's quite fine. I can see why you're so fond of her," Akashi says, watching out the window, his face clear of anything at all. Furihata wonders if maybe that's just the way he looks when he's content, or in the very least indifferent.

"Um, okay. Well, thank you for driving me. And for picking up Saori. Uh," he pauses, sniffling back up some ornery body fluids, and the action tickles the back of his already-raw throat. He coughs, absolutely horrible-sounding hacks that feel like a cinder block rubbing against his insides. He groans, and waves him off when Akashi's smooth face finally twists with concern. "Sorry, sorry. Anyways, I promise I'll call in if I still...you know. Feel like poop tomorrow," he says miserably, and the corner of Akashi's mouth ticks up.

"Make sure you drink plenty of fluids. And please accept help from your family when they offer," Akashi says sternly, leaving no room for argument, and Furihata nods weakly. He opens the door and leans down to his footspace to retrieve his bag - when he looks back up at Akashi to thank him once more (and, who's he kidding, he can't resist the opportunity to stare at his face from this close up) he pauses, open-mouthed.

Conflicted. His torso half-twisted towards Furihata, hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, Akashi looks conflicted. Like he was unsure what to do, which in and of itself was a completely foreign concept to be associated with him. But he has dimples in his chin as he frowns, his eyebrows slightly puckered, and he watches Furihata carefully. He seems to debate with himself for another moment, and then: "You're right. I'm not your sister," he murmurs, and Furihata's about to ask what he means by that ( _wasn't this kind of a delayed reaction? Didn't Furihata say something like that almost twenty minutes ago?_ ) but then Akashi leans forward and kisses him very lightly on the cheek. His lips are warm and soft, and as he pulls away every nerve ending in Furihata's body travels to his cheek to spark and fizzle and combust in great firework-like explosions. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about you," he adds softly, looking _nervous_ of all things, and if Furihata wasn't currently distracted by sensory overload he'd like to take better note of it.

His mouth flaps, his face the reddest it's ever been in his entire life, and he's so beyond confused but all he can think of to say is: "But Akashi-kun, you'll get sick."

Akashi's eyes flicker with amusement. "I haven't been sick for nearly fifteen years, and even then it was a very mild cold when I was a child."

Furihata reaches up to brush his fingertips across his cheek numbly. "Still...you...you shouldn't take any chances," he protests, even as his eyes travel back down to Akashi's lips. They look unfairly inviting, and if he's reading this right he might have permission to touch them again - maybe with his own mouth? But he really can't afford to pass out again, so he settles for looking - and then he hesitantly reaches out with his hand. Akashi catches it mid-air, brings it to his face and cradles it against his own cheek.  

"Rain check, then?" he murmurs, his warm eyes burning with affection, and Furihata nods, his head full of cotton.

"Okay."

He stumbles blearily from the car, lightheaded not just from the flu, and he has to take extra care in every step he takes. _Left foot, right foot, left foot, now right, and remember to swing your arms naturally - crap, how do I usually swing my arms? I think it's something like this -_

"Kouki?" Akashi calls, and Furihata's knees wobble as he takes the first step up the stairs. He turns, his eyes narrowing into a glare when he sees the poorly-hidden smirk. _He did that on purpose, didn't he? How unfair._ Akashi smiles apologetically, and Furihata nearly chokes when it morphs into something that couldn't be described as anything other than _diabolical._ "For future reference, any other day I would be more than happy to give you mouth-to-mouth."

And then the car is pulling away from the curb and disappearing around the next corner, leaving Furihata to stare after it dumbly, his jaw unhinged and heat flooding his face.

Yes, today has been a very strange day.

But it has also been sort of wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> BIG BIG BIG THANKS AND HUGS TO [BETTYGOESONHOLIDAYS](http://bettygoesonholidays.tumblr.com/) for being my beta! they have been so sweet and helpful so thank you bunches! <3 
> 
> the title of this comes from the The Jackson's [Blame It On the Boogie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULWjDOvEii4), a song that is completely groovy and makes me inexplicably happy, and since this fic is so lighthearted and without any real conflict to speak of i thought it was fitting. also i can't title things so i just picked the song i was diggin' at the time haha. 
> 
> this fic was based on a TRUE STORY. unfortunately this didn't happen to me but something similar happened to a friend of my sister's. can you imagine. *dreamy sigh* 
> 
> I am aware that canon-Kouki doesn't have a little sister. but canon-Kouki is also not a lifeguard, so let's just pretend that he has one in this alternate universe haha.
> 
> LOOK AT ME WRITING A FIC THAT HAS *NO* SWEARING?!!! REALLY??!! YEA YEA RATED G!! *PUMPS FIST* i really can't picture either of them having sailor mouths, and even then i think it would only be after a particularly bad toe-stub or during the throes of passion, neither of which are in this story. so. very clean language.
> 
> I may or may not write a sequel to this (to cash in on that rain check, ya know? *nudge nudge, wink wink*), but it depends on how I'm feelin or if other projects are being a pain in the butt.  
> anways, feel free to visit me at my tumblr [here](http://smileyeeyore.tumblr.com/)!


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